Of Cats and Capricorns
by BellatriaMusica
Summary: Severus has always hated birthdays, for the simple reason that they never seem to go particularly well. Voldemort might have made this one the worst yet, but Minerva has other plans.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All JKR's. No profit made here.

Author's Note: I will not write fanfic that abuses Severus Snape. I will not write fanfic that abuses Severus Snape. I will not write fanfic that abuses—oops. Well, darn. O_o Is it clichéd? Probably, so run away now if that bothers you; I, however, never seem to tire of some good ol' H/C. Enter Minerva McGonagall, anyone…? ;)

* * *

It was funny how midnights tended to set the tone for the next twenty-four hours. Being awake and pacing when the clock struck twelve usually didn't bode well for the day ahead.

Screaming in agony didn't quite cut it either.

Severus found himself wishing very much it had been the former, when, several hours after midnight, he was preparing to Apparate back to Hogwarts. The Dark Lord had been in a particularly nasty mood, and none of his present Death Eaters had been spared his wrath. It was, Severus supposed, somewhat fortunate that he had been among the first of the Dark Lord's victims—at least he'd had a few hours to gather his strength in preparation to Apparate; he would probably manage it without splinching himself.

What a comforting thought.

He sighed and turned on the spot as gracefully as his aching body could manage; a few disorientating moments later, he felt the hard-packed gravel and ice of the path outside the Hogwarts gates slam into his feet.

And the jarring _snap_ as one of his ankles decided to give out in the wrong direction.

"SHIT!"

He was able to stifle the howl sufficiently enough for his pride, but the pain did not abate; leaning on one of the wrought-iron gates in irritation, he began the laborious task of fishing his wand from his pocket. He winced as his fingers brushed damp cloth at his side—he hadn't thought the wound was that bad, but there had been significantly less blood the last time he'd checked.

_Idiot. Get to the castle. Now._

He was now glad Dumbledore had made allowances for his circumstances in the school's protection; murmuring counter-charms would not have done anything for anyone else. As it was, it was some time before he heard the lock on the gates suddenly click, and he limped through them as quickly as he could, feeling the enchantments reseal themselves once he was over the threshold.

_And now for the fun part_, he thought bitterly, eying the expansive lawns with dismay. Snow would hardly be a cushion to his leg; trying to walk unsupported would be a challenge. Not impossible, in his opinion, but certainly unpleasant. A single step proved him wrong: shockwaves of pain raced from his foot through his entire body; he overbalanced and fell, barely registering the drops reddening the snow as he cursed.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_…bloody sodding _hell_!"

Merlin, there was no way he was going to make it to the castle, at this rate… He reached again for his wand, but then sighed. He had no energy for a Patronus, nor was he confident he could envision anything cheerful enough to produce one at the moment.

Dragging himself it was, then. Typical.

_Well, Happy Birthday to me._

_

* * *

_

"Albus, I'm so sorry to disturb you, but…have you seen Severus?"

If the headmaster was surprised to see Minerva McGonagall at his door at half past four in the morning, he did not show it; he immediately invited her in and conjured a steaming tea tray.

"Voldemort called him," Albus sighed. "Last night. I would have thought…but he may still be there. Is something wrong, Minerva?"

Minerva pulled her tartan dressing gown more tightly around her and settled into one of the armchairs. "I—not particularly," she admitted, looking a bit embarrassed, "but I couldn't sleep, and Poppy was out of the potion I usually take. I was ready to forget the whole thing, but she insisted I go to Severus…and he's gone. I know he sometimes wanders the halls at odd hours, but I didn't dare send him a message in case he was with You-Know-Who."

"Understandable," Albus murmured, his light blue eyes creased in a frown. Minerva knew that look, and it did not always bode well; she set down her teacup and peered at him over the top of her spectacles.

"Albus, what is it?"

He glanced up at her, his face clearing slightly. "I'm sorry, Minerva, I was just—did you still need your potion?"

"I can do without, I suppose. It's no matter if it catches up to me in a few hours; what else are Saturdays for?"

Albus smiled faintly. "Indeed. No, Minerva, it's only that I was reviewing the wards, and Severus has now returned. I daresay he won't be opposed to helping you himself."

"Oh." Minerva's voice sounded surprisingly relieved, even to her. A Dreamless Sleep sounded wonderful, of course, but she had found herself increasingly worried every time her younger colleague was called to the Dark Lord's side. To have him back safely once again put her a bit more at ease. "Oh, I—thank you, Albus. I'll just—wait for him outside his office, then."

"I won't keep him long, Minerva. Goodnight."

* * *

Severus was very quickly remembering why he hated snow.

It was _cold_.

Not that he was opposed to cold in itself. The dungeons were quite chilly, even damp, and he was rather used to it by now. In fact, it was extreme heat he couldn't stand. But snow… It was a tangibly wet cold, one that soaked through his robes and numbed his hands as he half-crawled towards the castle.

At least, he mused, he had stopped shivering so badly; that had meant more time huddled in a ball trying to warm himself, and it was much slower going. He wasn't really dressed for this, and in the end it was this fact that got him moving again: The quicker he dragged himself to shelter, the quicker he could get out of the cold.

A particularly nasty gust of wind stole the breath from his lungs; he paused in annoyance and again looked up at the ground still left to cover. It was more than he wanted, but less than it had been a few minutes before…he could afford to rest for a few moments.

He shut his eyes as he curled up again, removing the weight from his hands. It would be all right. Better, in fact. He would be able to move faster if he allowed himself to warm up for a few seconds…just a few more seconds…

* * *

Minerva was not often cross with Albus. She did, however, become marginally annoyed, as was the case when she sat down, in cat form, outside of Severus's office. And waited. And waited.

_Honestly, Albus, it's not like I'd be sleeping anyway, but I'd have thought you'd let him go by now. He's got to be exhausted_, she thought.

The more she thought, she frowned. Albus did not often break his word; there must have been something in Severus's news that could not wait. Minerva suddenly stood up decisively. Important or not, the lot of them couldn't do much against the forces of evil tonight…could they? Rest was surely more important, especially to Severus, than Albus's occasional overzealousness.

Outside of the headmaster's office, Minerva transfigured herself once again and spoke the password ("_Strawberry taffy_"). As she climbed the stairs, however, she heard no voices from above, and Albus's greeting as she knocked was very worrisome indeed.

"Severus! Finally, my boy; you got back ages ago—oh, I'm sorry—Minerva?"

She stared at Albus in alarm at this revelation. "Severus—Severus isn't here?"

"I thought perhaps he was with you," said Albus, looking no less troubled. "He does occasionally visit his own office before reporting to me, and I thought if you had gotten to talking—well—"

"No, I haven't seen any sign of him," Minerva replied. She hesitated. "Albus, I—he'd probably think I'm a paranoid old fool, but I—it's not like him at all. Something's wrong."

Albus nodded thoughtfully, though he reached for his cloak. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he hasn't contacted either of us," he said slowly. "But all the same…I will check the hospital wing. Poppy usually waits up for him if she knows he's gone."

Minerva felt a stab of self-reproach at this; why had she never bothered to do the same? True, she was no healer, but a friend's face would surely be welcome after spending hours at Voldemort's side… She brooded over this all the way across the Entrance Hall, but she cleared her features as Albus pounded on the nurse's door.

"Yes—I'm coming! What's the matter?" she called.

Poppy's breathless, harried face appeared moments later. She glanced once at them, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face, and frowned.

"Headmaster—Minerva. What's going on?"

"Poppy, I'm very sorry to disturb you at this hour, but have you seen Severus?" Albus asked quickly.

"No," said Poppy, looking immediately anxious. "I thought that maybe he'd managed to make it back without needing to see me—was I wrong?"

"I've no idea," said Minerva. "We can't find him anywhere."

Poppy's face darkened. "What do you mean? He hasn't returned?"

"Oh, he's returned," said Albus firmly. "I'm sure of it. The wards weren't wrong. I think, however, it is time to call on Fawkes's assistance."

As he said the name, the phoenix appeared with a shriek and a flash of fire; Poppy jumped and stared at it. "What in heaven's name—no. _No_ animals in this ward, Headmaster! What do you expect he could do?"

"I need," said Albus quietly, stroking Fawkes's plumage with one finger, "for you to find Severus and come back to me. Then, if it is both necessary and safe to do so, I need you to take us to him."

The phoenix ducked his head and nipped at Albus's finger, then vanished in another burst of flames, leaving a single feather floating behind him. Minerva watched it fall to the floor and bit her lip. She could not quell the uneasy feeling gnawing at her stomach; the whole situation was just so unusual that she could see no good reason for its occurrence.

_What are you playing at, Severus? If it turns out you've got us all in a panic for nothing…_

Fawkes's reappearance ended that line of thought; she instead watched Albus observing his familiar. Fawkes keened softly and rustled his long tail feathers, and Albus frowned.

"Minerva, come with me. I may need your help. Poppy, I sincerely hope it is not necessary, but we may be in need of your assistance soon as well."

Poppy nodded and drew herself up to her full height; if she was puzzled by Albus's words, she hid it well. Minerva glanced at her before taking Albus's proffered hand. She had the peculiar sensation of Apparating through a particularly warm rubber tube before her feet hit something soft, and she gasped at the sudden chill. Her heart plummeted as she saw the answer to her questions.

They were outside, only about halfway across the grounds. The wards hadn't been wrong—Severus _had_ returned to Hogwarts.

He just hadn't made it to the castle.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Any comments, questions, etc. are welcome, as usual. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: *looks in mirror* Nope, still not JKR, so I don't own Harry Potter. :(

Author's Note: Thank you all for the lovely feedback regarding this story; I had no idea so many of you would enjoy this little bit of randomness! Alas, I'm afraid this chapter does little to advance any kind of plot, but I did want to give you an update. Snape-abuse can be rather addicting. :) Enjoy!

* * *

Minerva felt unable to breathe, and not only because the wind cut through her dressing gown.

They had wasted time—so much time—rationalising and assuming and creating comforting scenarios, and they could have killed because of it. _Oh, Severus_… Albus was already kneeling beside their younger colleague, frowning at the reddened ground beneath his middle and whispering instructions to Fawkes. Minerva joined him.

"Albus, I—is he—?"

She could not bring herself to say it, but he looked dead; his skin was barely distinguishable from the snow around him but for the slightly bluer tint it had acquired. His cloak had done him little good, or perhaps he had been out here longer than they'd thought—it was clearly soaked through, and a thin layer of ice had already begun forming on its folds. Albus reached for one of the pale wrists and bent closer, his brows creasing further.

"No, Minerva, he's breathing—barely—but his pulse is slow. Poppy will need to see him immediately."

He wrapped his cloak around Severus as best he could, and then hoisted the unconscious man in his arms. "Minerva, Fawkes will take you to Poppy—help her prepare as best you can. We will be along shortly—I don't want to risk Apparating, in his condition."

Minerva nodded and allowed the phoenix to whisk her back to Poppy's ward; the matron was waiting impatiently.

"Well?"

"We found him, Poppy. Outside. He's frozen—Albus didn't even want to try Apparating him—"

Poppy swore. "I should have known," she said angrily. "The next time he's not back before three in the morning, I don't care if I have to pop in on You-Know-Who himself—I _will_ know that Severus hasn't gone and gotten into worse trouble like this. Here, Minerva—blankets, warming pads, anything you can find in those cupboards, bring them here."

Minerva did as she was told. It was not, she thought wryly, exactly what she had envisioned herself doing early on a Saturday morning, but if she could help…. She shuddered slightly as she remembered Severus's face. She had seen a Muggle boy that colour, once, when she was a girl… he had fallen through the ice while skating on the lochs.

He had also died.

Fawkes whistled suddenly, drawing her attention back to the present. He was staring at her, his little black eyes shrewd, and she couldn't help but think that he deliberately nudged her as he fluttered around to perch on a headboard. Poppy glared at him for a moment, but then sighed.

"You're not going to leave, are you? Well, then, you'd better be of some help."

The phoenix trilled softly, as if to say that he always helped, before settling down to watch the ward's doors intently. Minerva shook her head. If she didn't know better, she would think that he was channelling Albus.

_Really, where is that man?_

She had scarcely decided to go out to meet him when he burst through the doors, carrying his precious bundle. Poppy glanced at them and sighed in exasperation.

"Put him down here. Really, Albus, it was dangerous to remove your own protection…"

"It was nothing."

"But it was still cold," said Minerva. "Hot chocolate, I think." She summoned a few cups as she watched Poppy work; the mediwitch did not look pleased.

"Foolish man…why did you ever try to make it up here with that wound, I wonder?" she murmured, but as she turned to heal it, Fawkes squawked indignantly and took her place instead, fat teardrops falling onto Severus's skin so that it sealed flawlessly; another squawk and a flash of fire, and the phoenix was gone. Albus smiled slightly, but Minerva pursed her lips; Poppy still looked too worried for her taste.

"Poppy, is there anything else I can do?" she said briskly.

Poppy shrugged. "We've got to get him warm," she said, feeling for Severus's pulse for the third time. "Gradually. I assume _you_ dried his clothes?" she shot at Albus.

"Naturally."

"Good. I can't say if he'll—well—you've definitely helped. Now…blankets…warming spells…NO, Albus, what are you doing?"

Albus put down his Potion Master's hand in surprise. "I merely thought the contact would help," he said. "Is it not possible that he could lose the use of his hands from—"

"Of course, but that's a necessary risk at this point," Poppy snapped. "We warm his body first. Not the extremities. That's cold blood you're trying to circulate, Albus, and his heart won't take it. You'll kill him."

Knowing that it was only concern that made Poppy so irascible, Minerva bit her tongue at Albus's hurt look. Nevertheless, she gave him an encouraging smile and helped Poppy enchant the various quilts that they tucked around Severus. Despite soon looking as though he were encased in a small mountain of warm cloth, however, Poppy still shook her head as she slipped the thermometer out from underneath his tongue once more.

"It's still much too low," she said fretfully. "Albus, I'm sorry, but he's not doing as well as I'd hoped…"

Minerva glanced at her, puzzled; surely with all the available healing magic, more could be done? But Poppy caught her eyes and shook her head again.

"Those warming pads are already as hot as I dare make them; it's too much strain on his system as it is—oh, _hell_. Don't you _dare_—damn you, Severus, _breathe_!"

She bent over him again, muttering spells under her breath; Minerva exchanged a look with Albus and fidgeted uncomfortably. Severus certainly wasn't her favourite person to spend time with, but he was still a colleague and—however loosely the term was used—friend. To see him in such a state, partly due to her own delay, was more difficult than she'd imagined.

Poppy finally straightened up with a sigh, but looked less confident than ever. "Minerva, keep an eye on him for a moment. I'm getting a potion that should help warm his bloodstream directly," she said, and headed for her office.

Minerva nodded and sat at Severus's side, noting with chagrin that his colour was no better. He did not stir as she brushed the hair from his face, his skin like ice against her hand. Still, he was breathing again—if only just—and Poppy had worked miracles before…

"Perhaps Fawkes should have stayed," she said quietly, feeling Albus's eyes upon her.

He sighed. "I have faith in Poppy's abilities, though it is my fault that we have need of them at the moment. All the time I assumed—"

"Enough, Albus. It's You-Know-Who's fault, if anyone's. And mine. I shouldn't have waited."

"My dear professor," he chuckled hollowly, "you're probably the reason he's alive. If you hadn't come to me, I would have slept soundly, and he would have remained outside with no one to find him in time."

"It still might not be 'in time,'" said Poppy darkly, returning with a bottle of potion and a syringe, "but I'm doing my best."

Minerva winced and looked away as Poppy tended to Severus again, pricking his skin with practised hands. Albus was clearly very troubled; she had not seen him look so dejected since… well, she couldn't even remember when. She summoned another cup of hot chocolate and levitated it towards him, eyeing him nervously, but he managed a small smile.

"Thank you, Minerva."

"Albus, he'll be all right," she said firmly. She forced herself to ignore Poppy's quiet but slightly doubtful snort.

Albus shook his head. "I can't help but think…. Something happened, Minerva. He was hurt. Voldemort cannot have been pleased." He paused. "That is to say nothing of… Severus has told me that Voldemort has been making a habit of the Cruciatus curse of late. I find it hard to believe he escaped with little more than a flesh wound."

"It wasn't a 'flesh wound'; he was bleeding quite badly before that bird of yours healed him," Poppy muttered, disgruntled. "In any case… I dare not give him the usual potion until he's more stable."

"And that will be…?" said Albus quietly.

She looked up at her colleagues and sighed. "I—I don't know. With any luck, he'll sleep off most of the curse's effects before the potion is needed. Well, it's needed _now,_ of course, but it does very nasty things when combined with what I just gave him. And, seeing as it's a choice between possible discomfort and death…."

"Of course," said Minerva, nodding. "But—Poppy, he just looks so—"

"Bad, I know," she provided. "As can only be expected. He's certainly not in good shape."

"But he _will—_eventually_—_be all right?" persisted Albus. His light blue eyes were piercing, staring from Severus to Poppy as though sheer will could make him respond to her treatments. Minerva bit her lip; when Albus was unsure, things were very grave, indeed.

Poppy hesitated. "He'll need monitoring for a while yet," she said slowly, "but he _should_ pull through…. I've done everything I can. Well, short of crawling in there naked with him, of course, but there are charms to take my place. And I absolutely forbid either of you to try it," she added, cracking a tired grin. "I won't have tried to save him from freezing to death only to have _that _shock kill him."

Minerva managed a weak laugh. "No, I don't think you need to worry about that, Poppy," she said. "Though, honestly…" she continued, as the thought struck her, "If it would help—" She transfigured herself into a cat and leapt onto Severus's chest, tilting her head at Poppy in question.

"I hadn't thought of that," the mediwitch said, surprised; then she shrugged. "Well, it can't hurt. Actually, no, Minerva—stay there. It'll be easier to keep an eye on him, that way, though I'll certainly be here, as well."

Minerva nodded, then curled up in a ball, nestling her head against Severus's neck. His skin was still chilly, but the blue had faded, and the steady _thud_ of his heartbeat beneath her cheek was somewhat reassuring. She heard Albus sigh.

"Poppy, if there's any reason—"

"Headmaster, I've done my best—he won't recover instantly. The most you can do at this point is worry yourself sick. Go back to bed. Minerva and I will be fine."

Minerva intended to purr her agreement, but the warmth from the blankets was taking its toll. Suddenly exhausted, she huddled further down and allowed her eyes to close, praying the man she was using as a pillow would still be alive when she woke.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Comments, questions, etc. always welcome. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Woo! Sorry for the wait on this one; things have been busy around here, and I haven't had as much time to write as I would like. I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, but the plot bunny wanted me to move on, so I'll stick with this for now. Just one more chapter after this one, I think... enjoy! :)

Edit 8 March: Just fixing a few glaring typos, which I am utterly ashamed I did not catch the first time round. If you see any more, let me know...chapter 4 should be up sometime soon. :)

* * *

There was something oddly soft and warm nudging his face.

And everything still hurt.

Apparently he wasn't dead, then. That was probably a good sign. Severus didn't think Voldemort would bother with the pleasantries of a comfortable bed, but he would have imagined that Poppy would've healed him by now.

The thoughts were slow, disjointed; he would scarcely remember a name or envision a scenario when it became muddled again, occasionally punctuated with a jolt of pain. Oblivion was both hovering just out of reach and tugging back at him, but as he tried to surrender to it once more, he was struck with the perverse desire to open his eyes.

Amazingly, it persisted for more than a few seconds. While he could still think, he made the effort—but his leaden body would not obey him, and he could only manage what he thought was a slit, through which an unfocused world was barely visible.

Something brushed his face again.

"Severus?"

He knew that voice—he was safe, then. He tried to ask what had happened, but managed only a stifled groan before a soft finger touched his lips.

"No. Don't speak. Are you up to trying a potion?"

By the time he was able to comprehend the words, Poppy had apparently decided he was capable. There was a slight _chink_ as she picked up a phial from somewhere to the—left? Right? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Minerva, you'll have to move for a bit," she muttered, and a bit of the warm weight on his chest vanished; then, he was being held up slightly, and he smothered a gasp as the movement increased the ache throughout his body.

"Still with me, Severus? Drink."

He swallowed the slightly bitter liquid as Poppy supported him, but the effort sapped the last of his strength. He thought he felt her sit on the edge of his bed, but was probably imagining it—he could fend off the welcoming blackness no longer, and allowed himself to slip back into nothingness.

* * *

Minerva stretched as she woke, rolling on her side and lazily pushing her paws out in front of her. She rarely slept in cat form, but it was fairly comfortable…especially when she found somewhere soft. A purr vibrated deep in her chest, and she slit an eye open—to see the rather ugly green curtains that she knew Poppy used in the hospital wing. _What—?_

Oh, Merlin. Severus.

She jerked up immediately, looking round, but he was still beneath her; she leapt from the bed, transforming as she did so, and straightened up to peer at the younger man. He was still pale, his features slack in unconsciousness, but the slight rise and fall of his chest was encouraging. _He's alive_.

A slight rustling of the curtains alerted her to Poppy's presence; the medi-witch was carrying another potion on a tray and looked startled to see her.

"Minerva, I didn't expect you up yet; it's barely noon," she said. "Is everything all right?"

Minerva nodded. "I—I think so," she replied. "At least, I don't know if—I mean, he's still alive, so—"

"Ah, yes. He's doing much better. Not great, but…better. He woke a little while ago, in fact, though I don't know if I should count it considering how disorientated he was…. He's still got a ways to go, though. You don't nearly die from exposure and wake fully recovered in six hours."

Minerva yawned. "Six hours? No wonder I'm so tired."

"Of course you are, dear," said Poppy absently. "You really should go back to sleep. On top of him again, if you don't mind. He's still a bit cold, even if he's out of danger."

"Has Albus been—?"

"No. I'd imagine he's in bed yet. Now, go _on_, Minerva; you look dead on your feet."

She didn't need telling twice; she was only too happy to transfigure herself and curl up again, tail tucked firmly around her, and surrender to her exhaustion.

* * *

The soft clearing of Albus's throat eventually wakened Poppy, who jumped to her feet in mortification.

"Goodness, Headmaster, I'm so sorry! I must have nodded off…what can I do for you?"

Albus smiled slightly, but his eyes lacked their usual vigorous twinkle. "Severus—is he—?"

"Asleep. He'll be all right, Albus. I can tell you that much."

Albus sighed. "Thank you, Poppy. Your abilities are truly astounding—I don't know what we'd do without you."

"You'd do with an equally talented healer, of course," said Poppy wryly, but her cheeks had flushed with pride at the compliment. She toyed with a potion phial on the nightstand and cast a longing look at the armchair where she'd fallen asleep, searching for something else to say. "And it was you and Minerva who saved him."

A slight movement from the bed caught their attention; Minerva uncurled and stretched, jumping from the bed as she noticed them. "Oh, good afternoon, Albus…what did I miss?"

"Nothing," said Albus, shrugging. "Poppy said Severus will be fine."

"I'd heard," said Minerva wryly, wincing as she twisted her back. "Oh, that's better…He never does anything halfway, does he? Can't be hurt without nearly dying, can't bring back a scrap of information without managing to bring down an entire operation…"

"Actually, that _is_ something I'd like to know," said Albus, looking rather sheepish. "Poppy, would it be possible for me to—speak with him—regarding the events of last n—"

"Headmaster!" said Poppy, scandalised. "He's only been stable for an hour or so; I'm not going to recommend—!"

"Is it _possible_?"

Minerva frowned; hearing what Severus had to say was no doubt important, but it seemed too soon to ask such a thing of him. Albus was staring at Poppy intently, however, and she finally gave a disapproving sigh.

"It is. Make it quick."

She went to Severus's side and murmured "_Ennervate_"; his eyelids flickered and slowly opened, though he still looked dazed.

"…Poppy?"

"Hush. Drink this. Albus is insisting on talking to you." She shot a dark glare at Albus as she helped Severus with his potion, then let him slump back against the pillows. Satisfied that everything was in order, she pursed her lips and headed for her office, slamming the door with rather more force than strictly necessary.

"You really shouldn't have forced her," Minerva muttered, but she took a seat next to the bed in any case. "How are you feeling, Severus?"

"Like shit," he mumbled, and Albus had the grace to look apologetic.

"You gave us quite a scare, you know," he said gently. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Albus!" Minerva scolded mildly. "He's only just woken!"

Severus grimaced, black eyes falling shut for a moment. "I remember…being called. The Dark Lord was not pleased. There were…failures…in infiltrating the Ministry, and the Order…. We were punished." He sighed, exhausted from the effort of speaking.

"Nothing else?"

"No, Headmaster." He fell silent and shut his eyes again; Albus stood at Minerva's pointed glance.

"Thank you, my boy. I will leave you to Poppy's ministrations before she throws me out." With a smile Severus didn't see and a nod to Minerva, he left.

She glared after him. It was bad enough to disturb Severus in the first place, but for the extent of that conversation? She snorted, and smoothed a lock of hair out of his face to occupy herself; it was a habitual movement that they both knew calmed her and annoyed him. Sure enough, his pallid face creased slightly.

"What are you doing?" he said groggily.

Minerva smiled. "Making sure you're comfortable before I let you rest."

He winced, and there was a trace of pain in his voice this time. "You're failing."

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "Poppy can't give you a potion to counteract pain yet; she said it would react with whatever she gave you to keep you alive."

His features contorted into a puzzled frown. "But—my leg—"

"What about it?" said Minerva uneasily, and then called for Poppy. "You shouldn't be feeling pain anywhere specific."

Poppy was there within moments. "What's wrong?"

"My leg, dammit," Severus snapped, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "Why couldn't you—?"

"I don't understand," said Poppy, worried, but then put a hand to her mouth as she pulled back the duvet and gingerly raised the hem of his pyjama bottoms. Minerva's stomach flipped; his leg was a swollen, angry red, the ankle—or what might have been his ankle once—heavily bruised and vaguely crooked. Poppy gave a squeak of dismay.

"How did that—it—it's broken," she said faintly, looking horrified with herself.

"No shit," snarled Severus weakly. Minerva glared at him.

"Severus—!"

"No," said Poppy, shaken. "I—I don't know how I didn't—I was so concerned with—Merlin, I could have fixed that in a moment."

Minerva started. "Can't you now?"

"I—" Poppy swallowed, suddenly looking quite sick as she waved her wand in a complicated pattern over the injury. "The potion. The potion I gave him—it started healing the bone the wrong way. If I'd only realised—" She stopped. "It's no longer as simple as a bone-mending spell, I'm afraid. Oh, Severus. I'm so, so sorry."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Sing with me, now: If your name is J.K. Rowling, clap your hands…*silence*… Yeah. I thought so. There's no clapping happening on this end, so, to what I'm sure is _everyone's_ great surprise, that means I don't own Harry Potter. Pity. Snape could have gotten a happy ending. :)

Author's Note: Hello again! It's been a while, yes? I am truly sorry for the wait; the mid-term madness hit me harder than expected, and, much as I value my fanfic writing time, I daresay I should probably put the degree first. Feel free to leave comments berating me for my poor life choices if you are displeased. ;) In the hopes of perhaps making you forget to do so…enjoy a much longer chapter than usual.

* * *

Minerva stared at Poppy in horror. "What do you mean?"

"I—I'm not sure—I'll have to check whether—"

"How do you miss a broken leg?" Severus snapped bad-temperedly. "For heaven's sake, woman, it's not as though I haven't been here long enough—what kind of Healer are you?"

"Severus," said Minerva sharply; Poppy's usually steely eyes had filled with tears. She mumbled something about checking a reference, then headed for her office. Severus snorted, but winced again once the door had slammed behind her, his face nearly colourless.

"What?" he muttered.

Minerva sighed and took the seat beside him. "Severus, I don't think you realise just how close you were to dying," she said softly. "Poppy's main priority was keeping you alive. You were nearly frozen. The only easily apparent sign of injury was your side—which Fawkes healed immediately, I might add—but you were so cold…. We nearly lost you twice. I'm sorry she was so busy trying to make sure you were still breathing that she didn't have time to scan you methodically."

Severus's eyelids slipped shut once more, the anger draining from his posture. "I know," he murmured. "I—I'm sorry. It's just…"

"It hurts, I know," finished Minerva. "And you're exhausted—Albus shouldn't have woken you. And you're stuck here instead of celebrating."

"Celebrating?"

"Your birthday, Severus."

He frowned. "I had almost forgotten."

A slight sniff forestalled Minerva's reply; Poppy stood holding a book and looking miserable, but dry-eyed.

"As—as far as I can tell, we have two options," she said, not meeting Severus's eyes. "I can't just heal it; the bone needs to be re-formed. I can Vanish it and let you re-grow it—we have plenty of Skele-Gro—or—" She hesitated. "Well, it's rather unpleasant, but I could break it again. I'd be able to heal it much more quickly—almost immediately."

"Fine."

The answer was so abruptly detached that Minerva stared. Had he gone mad…?

"Severus—are you sure you want to—"

"Just do it," he snapped. "And then both of you get out."

In any other circumstance, Minerva would have scolded him for his behaviour—if Poppy didn't manage it first—but the matron simply sighed, remorse still clouding her face, so Minerva remained silent. _It's not as though he doesn't have an excuse_, she thought sadly, eyeing his pained features with dismay. _It certainly hasn't been one of his better days._

She squeezed his cold hand gently, surprised that he did not draw away, though that might have been because he was directing his energy towards scowling at Poppy. The mediwitch avoided his gaze and jabbed her wand at him; there were two sharp _crack_s in quick succession, and Minerva bit her tongue at the suddenly painful grip Severus had on her wrist.

"There," said Poppy faintly. "It's—it's fine now, though it might be tender for a few days. Good Merlin, I haven't had to do that in ages…."

"How fortunate for me," said Severus tightly. He glanced down at his hands and unclenched his stiff fingers, looking vaguely sheepish. "I'm sorry, Minerva."

She rubbed her wrist and shook her head. "It's all right, Severus, I'm fine."

"Severus, are you—" Poppy faltered for a moment at the thunderous glare he turned on her, but squared her shoulders and returned it. "Listen, Severus, I'm sorry. I'll leave you in peace, I promise—but is there _anything_ else bothering you that I can try to—?"

"Unlikely," he said bitterly. "Except—my hands—" He flexed them rather more clumsily than usual. "They don't—_hurt_, exactly, but they feel…stiff. Uncoordinated."

Poppy bit her lip. "Ah…yes. I'm afraid…. Well, they'll be fine, Severus, you'll regain full use of them, don't worry…but it will be a few days. You—you were very cold for a long while; even with potions you can't just expect them to—these things take time. Severus…?"

Minerva glanced at him, and very nearly reached for a basin; he had gone a most appalling shade of green, staring at his shaking hands in horror.

"Get out," he croaked. "Leave me. I—damn it, Poppy, I'm fine—_go!_"

For once, Poppy withdrew without further remark, leaving Minerva with their younger colleague. She reached for him carefully.

"Severus—"

"Get out, Minerva," he said flatly.

She sat up straighter, but did not comply. "Severus, stop this—at least allow me to give you a Calming Draught. I—Severus, dear, stop. You heard her—you'll be fine. You're just tired, and hurt, and you need rest—you're not thinking clearly—"

"Shut up," he snapped. "I'm thinking perfectly clearly. This can't—Minerva, he'll kill me."

"You-Know-Who?"

"_Yes_."

Minerva tried to ignore the uneasiness stealing over her as she scrutinised Severus's agitated face. He was not prone to exaggeration—except, perhaps, where Albus was concerned—but with the Dark Lord, such a statement could easily be taken literally. She frowned.

"Something happened last night. What did you not tell us?"

"I told you," said Severus wearily. "He's displeased. We've failed infiltrating the Ministry to the extent he'd like. He's—he's had enough. He swore in front of us that he'd kill the next one that failed in his assignment. I—I was already at risk—but then he gave me a potion to brew. For next week." Severus shut his eyes once more, clearly drained from the effort of being angry. "I—it would already be difficult to finish in time, even for a Potions Master with my skill and speed, but now—if I can't use my hands—"

"Hush. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Minerva, reaching for the potion. It really was a pity he couldn't have alcohol at the moment; she'd had a nice bottle of the strongest Ogden's she could find all wrapped up for his birthday present, which would likely have been just as therapeutic…

"Here. Drink. You can't very well rest like this. Just—think about what you'd like for dinner, or something. You'll probably be hungry when you wake—you haven't eaten all day."

Severus swallowed the potion without protest, but scowled weakly as he rolled over. "Leave me alone, Minerva."

"I'll let you rest, then. But you're not alone. You remember that."

She ignored his doubtful snort, and, after a moment's thought, reverted to her cat form once more. She had no desire to eat; nor, really, to do anything remotely productive for the rest of the day. And he had been such a surprisingly comfortable cushion…

Severus made a tired, scathing noise as she leapt onto the bed and curled at his side, but was either too exhausted or too apathetic to push her away. Minutes later, she felt his heavy fingers curl into her fur, and she purred vaguely in response as she followed him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey was not often given over to the emotional side of her profession. Certainly, a tear would glisten in her eyes in outstanding cases, but being calmly efficient and reassuring was what she did best. Upon seeing her stricken face as she entered his office, then, Albus had no choice but to assume the worst.

"What's happened?" he said cautiously, rising from his desk. "Is Severus—?"

To his relief, Poppy waved away his fears, though she looked no less distraught. "No, no, Headmaster; he's recovering well. No thanks to me." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Headmaster, if it is not too inconvenient for you, I should like to resign my post."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Well, I won't say that it is particularly convenient, but I of course cannot force you to stay. Forgive me, my dear, but may I ask what brought about this sudden change of mind?"

"I made a mistake." Poppy's grey eyes were unnaturally bright.

"We all make mistakes. It is—regrettably—part of being human."

She shook her head. "No, Headmaster, I—with Severus. He was in such pain because I failed to realise something as obvious as a broken leg. What if it had been something else? I could have cost him his life!"

"You are not the first to nearly have done so in the past few days, Poppy," Albus reminded her gently. She remained unconvinced, smoothing a strand of hair back under her hat to occupy her hands.

"But, Headmaster…It's my job. If I could miss something so obvious…for pity's sake, Albus, I'm responsible for the health and safety of hundreds of children! I wouldn't dare put them at risk simply because I'm—I'm losing my touch!"

Albus smiled encouragingly and summoned a tea tray, pushing a cup into Poppy's hands. "Look at me, Poppy," he said softly, waiting until she had done so before continuing. "You are not losing your touch. I watched you save a life, just this morning, with no small amount of skill. It is for this reason I hired you in the first place—I, too, am fully responsible for the well-being of the students that pass through these halls, and I would be mad if I entrusted their health to anyone with less expertise."

"But—"

"You are human, Poppy. You are bound to make mistakes as surely as the rest of us—though, if I may be so bold as to say so, your record is certainly much cleaner than mine. Unless you truly do not wish to stay, I refuse to accept your resignation."

"Very well." Poppy's careworn face relaxed, though she gave him a most peculiar smirk as she drained her cup and rose from her seat. "Severus is right about you, you know. You're barking. He's said it for years."

"I know," said Albus pleasantly, smiling again. Such insinuations from his staff, being in all likelihood at least half true, had never bothered him. "I suppose I can take that to mean he is feeling much better?"

Poppy's face fell. "I—he's quite upset with me, and rightfully so. Minerva is with him. Trying to keep up his spirits, I think, though neither will admit it. He's having a rough time."

"Understandable," said Albus. He stood, watching Poppy with wary eyes. "I suppose it would still be too soon to disturb him?"

Poppy sighed. "This is about your Order business, isn't it? I should have known you wouldn't be satisfied by his answers; he was so out of it before…." She glared at the memory. "I still say it was a bad idea. As for now…I still wouldn't recommend it, but you never know. He might welcome the distraction."

* * *

Minerva's keen ears caught the _creak_ of the ward's doors, and it was this that awakened her. Slitting her eyes open, she caught a glimpse of the headmaster's purple robes making their way across the room; she cautiously eased herself out from under Severus's hand and transformed.

"Albus?" she whispered. "What is it?"

"I had hoped to speak with Severus," said Albus quietly, gesturing to the younger man on the bed, "but I see that will not be possible at the moment."

Minerva glanced at Severus again; he was still remarkably pale, but his face was relaxed in sleep, his even breaths indicating no discomfort. She shook her head. "No. I only just managed to get him like this…oh, about a half hour ago. He was very upset about his hands, you see."

"Poppy didn't say—"

"He'll make a full recovery," Minerva explained, "but—oh, Albus, he kept saying that You-Know-Who was going to kill him; something about not being able to finish a potion in time with his hands in this state. I'm—I'm inclined to believe him."

"As am I," said Albus heavily. "Voldemort has been growing more paranoid by the day, at least according to Severus. He would not hesitate to kill one of his own if he felt it would ensure the others' loyalty. It would be a small price to pay."

Minerva felt a curious stinging in the corner of her eyes, but blinked it away quickly. It wasn't fair—but then, nothing much in life ever had been, especially when it came to Severus. She gazed at his sleeping form again, wondering at the lines on his face—he couldn't be more than just thirty-seven? Thirty-eight? And yet, he had never been a young man. If he lived through this war, he would likely look older than her.

"What are we going to do, Albus?" she whispered. "Severus expects to be killed by next week."

Albus shook his head. "I will not stand back and let it happen, of course, but we cannot take action until we know exactly what Voldemort expects of him. For now, let him rest."

"I suppose he needs that more than anything." Minerva sighed. "It's—it's just so odd. I think the last time he was this civil to me was his last birthday, and that only because of the half bottle of wine we both had."

She stared as Albus chuckled. "That might have had something to do with it, yes, but do not underestimate yourself—or him. He thinks a great deal of you, Minerva, whatever it may seem."

Minerva snorted. She may have respected Severus—worried for him, liked him, even—but she held no illusions as to his regard for her. As a spy, he could not—would not—allow himself to value others too highly; it was too dangerous. They were, at best, distant friends.

Albus smiled again. "Why else do you think he has let you stay with him as much as you have? Unless I am mistaken, it was not strictly necessary—but he knows that you care."

"Of course I care," Minerva said briskly. "For pity's sake, Albus, I've never seen him so vulnerable. How could I not care?"

"Exactly," said Albus, nodding. "You know him, Minerva—well enough to know that he fears vulnerability, and he fears the pity of others. And yet, he has allowed you to stay, and to witness what he considers his weakness."

"He's not had much of a choice."

"Perhaps not, but I do not think he resents it as much as he otherwise would. He trusts you, Minerva."

"Indeed," she murmured, frowning. She glanced downward and noticed, to her embarrassment, that she was still her dressing gown; it was quite ridiculous. "I—I think I shall go and freshen up a bit, if you don't mind, Albus. If Severus wakes, please tell him I'll be back shortly."

"Of course."

Minerva swept from the room, glad of the deserted corridors, so she did not have to fight to hide her agitation. Severus trusted her. _Her_. It was—unexpected, and surprisingly not unwelcome, but…. It nagged at her. She'd never meant to feel responsible for him, but now…

Good Merlin, the poor man expected to be dead within days without her and Albus's help.

She'd best start thinking.

* * *

Author's Note: Whew! Congratulations on making it to the bottom. Comments, complaints, questions, and other such queries deemed non-creepy or non-spoilerish will be addressed. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Sigh…trust me, if I owned Harry Potter, I'd be working on prequels telling the backstories of the fascinating adult characters JKR seemed to be so fond of killing in _Deathly Hallows_. And I'd be making money. (Hint: Neither of these apply to me. Yet. However…seeing as the latter's because I don't start working again until next week, and the former is because that fanfic isn't fully outlined at present, I think it's pretty obvious I'm not JKR.)

Author's Note: An UPDATE? Gasp! I know—it has been far too long, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. I managed good marks towards my degree(s) this semester, however, so I swear the wait wasn't for nothing. ;) I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Albus Dumbledore's smiling face was not, in fact, what Severus wanted to see upon waking. Nothing would have been preferable, but he wouldn't scoff at a tray from the kitchens. Or Minerva, for that matter. Perhaps it was an effect of the potions, but she had been much more tolerable than usual since he'd landed here.

His luck, unfortunately, had not improved since midnight; there was no sign of either Minerva or some sort of sustenance, and, while Poppy was mercifully absent, Albus's twinkling blue eyes more than made up for that missing annoyance.

"Good evening, Severus. I trust a day's rest has done you good?"

'_Good' is far too optimistic_, Severus thought grimly, but he held his tongue and nodded instead. "Where is Minerva?"

"I do believe she is ordering us dinner. She did, however, inform me that there was something you neglected to mention in your earlier report."

Severus avoided that searching gaze. In truth, it had not been something he'd thought he would need to mention; had it not been for the time stuck in the hospital wing and the unforeseen loss of dexterity in his hands, he had been sure he could finish the Dark Lord's bidding in time. Probably. Maybe. Hell, it didn't matter now, anyway. He sighed, and hid behind his best excuse.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said quietly. "I—I wasn't thinking clearly. The potions—"

"Of course," said Albus. "And I'm sure we will work something out nonetheless. I'm quite sure Minerva would never forgive me if I sent you to certain death."

"Wouldn't she?" Severus murmured. It had been odd, confiding in her—but somehow satisfying to know that someone else understood; that she, at least, would know the truth of it when he did not return from the Dark Lord's next calling. It might even have been real concern on that stern face, when he'd told her…No. It couldn't have been. But then, she had stayed with him….

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Albus chuckled. _Damn. _

"It was Minerva who saved you, my boy. She realised you were missing and got us looking for you—according to Poppy, just in time. They had to work quite hard to keep you with us; they would not appreciate having wasted their effort." Albus smiled. "And I, of course, would miss you terribly."

"What a glowing reassurance of what my life is worth to you," said Severus, unable to keep bitterness from creeping into his voice. He was perversely pleased to see Albus's eyes widen in hurt; the headmaster's words, for some inexplicable reason, stung more than he liked. He was saved from apologising by Minerva's re-entrance.

"Well, I certainly find it reassuring to see you up and as pleasant as ever," she said, closing the door quietly. "The elves will be up with supper in a few minutes; you'd better be hungry."

Severus nodded. He was surprised to find that he _was_ actually hungry, but he was not about to admit it within earshot of Poppy's office. Instead, he traced a finger in no specific pattern over the bedspread, avoiding Minerva's piercing gaze as she sat beside him.

"So," she said without preamble, "what are we going to do about your potion?"

Well. That was quick. Severus hesitated and glanced at the somewhat disapproving look on Albus's face before answering.

"I—I suppose I'll just have to work more slowly, and see what happens. I can stay up later if I need—"

"That," said Minerva firmly, "is one of the most foolish things I have ever heard you say, Severus Snape. What exactly were you planning on doing if you don't finish in time?"

"Give him what I have, make excuses, and hope it's enough?"

"Are you even trying?" Minerva snapped. "Not an hour ago you insisted that if you didn't have it ready, he'd kill you—"

"Enough, Minerva," said Albus calmly. He turned to Severus and frowned. "Severus, are you _certain_ there is no way for you to fulfil Voldemort's orders precisely the way he wants?"

Severus thought. No, it wasn't likely. Even with full use of his hands, he'd barely be able to finish, even if he missed his classes for the next week. He needed more time…several hours, at least…. He glanced at his colleagues hesitantly.

"Not if I am to sleep. There are potions that will allow me to remain awake for days, of course, so I suppose I could manage if—"

"Out of the question," Minerva said briskly. "I took one of those while I was cramming for my Transfiguration Mastery, once—it's not right. They're dangerous, Severus; you know that."

"Poppy will have our heads if she ever even hears mention of it," Albus agreed. "I forbid you to sacrifice the little sleep you get for this."

"It's sleep or my life, Headmaster," snapped Severus, suddenly impatient; did they honestly think they could make his situation better by wasting time looking for a non-existent solution? "Which would you prefer?"

A sudden _crack_ made them all jump; four house elves had arrived, bearing trays of enormous proportions. "We is bringing dinner for Headmaster and professors," one of them said, glancing at Minerva for confirmation. She nodded, and they disappeared without another word. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Just how many people did you tell them they were serving?"

"Hush, you. It's all your favourites—_eat_."

Seeing Albus's warning look, Severus let it go without comment, although he eyed his plate with dismay. Minerva appeared to have ordered everything she had ever seen him eat, resulting in a veritable mountain of dishes on their trays; he scowled when she uncovered a garishly decorated cake.

"Really, Minerva, that was not necessary—"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid I had no say in the decoration—anyone that's been in your presence for more than five minutes would have known never to use flowers. However, seeing as you're unable to leave for a party and Poppy won't allow you to indulge in the bottle of Ogden's I managed to find for you, this will have to suffice. Happy Birthday."

"Indeed," Albus added cheerfully. "I daresay the Ogden's will keep for a few days, though hopefully Poppy won't keep you that long. Would you mind terribly if I had a daffodil? I do so love the icing."

"Take it," said Severus, scowling at the offending confection. "But—meaning no offence, Minerva—I'm afraid I shall have to decline the drink for a few days, at least until this potion is finished. If I cannot use my hands to full capacity, I can at least make sure my mind is intact."

"Pity. And I had hoped to see you absolutely plastered this weekend," said Minerva wryly, but she sighed and straightened up almost at once. "Very well. I expect a celebratory drink with you when this business is finished."

Severus suppressed a smirk. "Next week, then. Or, should something go wrong, then may Albus serve as my witness in bequeathing it back to you. You can drink to my memory, or not at all, as you wish."

"I very much think we _would_ wish," said Albus, "if I allowed it to come to that. However, much as I appreciate your morbid sense of humour, my boy, such thoughts are not necessary."

Severus merely shrugged. "We shall see," he replied, before feigning tiredness, so that they would bid him an early goodnight. He suppressed a smirk as Poppy dimmed the lamps before retiring to her office.

Escapes were so much easier to achieve when there were no witnesses.

* * *

"HEADMASTER! Headmaster, you've got to come, talk some sense into him, something—!"

Minerva exchanged a look with Albus and put down the remainder of her breakfast; he sighed and admitted Poppy into his office with a wave of his wand.

"Yes?"

The matron was positively trembling with fury. "I swear, Albus, if he doesn't do himself in first, I'm going to end up killing him myself!"

"What's he done now?" said Minerva cautiously; a Poppy in full tantrum mode was best not provoked further.

"He's gone and disappeared, that's what he's done!" Poppy fumed. "I wake up to find the beds empty, no owls or notes of any kind—not even the portraits saw anything—so help me, Albus, if he's just been off to his dungeons—"

"I will speak to Severus," said Albus wearily. "Thank you, Poppy."

She gaped at him for a moment, unsure as to whether it was a dismissal; as she was unable to form any more coherent words, however, she turned on her heel and left, her fading footsteps leaving the office in ominous silence. Albus finally sighed again.

"He'll be—"

"—working on his potion," Minerva finished. "Stubborn git."

"Stubborn, indeed," said Albus. He got to his feet with a rustle of purple velvet and magicked their breakfast tray away into thin air. "Ah, well, I could do with stretching my legs—I haven't been to the dungeons for some time. Unless you'd rather use the fire, Minerva?" he offered, gesturing to the jar of Floo powder he had on hand.

"I'd rather not be hexed for invading his privacy without warning, thank you, Albus," she said drily. "Shall we?"

For a man of a hundred and fifty, his walk was remarkably buoyant; Minerva matched him stride for stride, and they were pounding on Severus's workroom door within minutes. He did not sound pleased when he finally called back to them.

"What? Kindly state your business or go away. I'm busy."

"Too busy to talk to me?" said Albus, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, actually," came the snide reply, but the lock clicked almost at once, and Minerva hurried into the room after Albus. She blinked and swallowed a cough; the purple haze that clouded the room was making her eyes sting and water.

"Severus—what—?"

He turned a glare on her. "Shut the door. You're disrupting the temperature."

"And you're disrupting the peace. Poppy threw a fit when she found you gone."

"This concerns me because…?"

Albus cleared his throat. "Severus, did she give you permission to leave?"

He scowled into the cauldron he was stirring. "Of course not. As you can clearly see, however, I am fine. I could not put this off for much longer, in any case."

"Perhaps not," conceded Minerva, "but—Severus, you almost died _yesterday!_ How you can just be up as though nothing has happened—"

"There will be no 'almost' about it if I cannot finish this by the time the Dark Lord calls. I cannot afford to lose any more time."

Minerva bit her lip as she searched for another objection. She could not argue against the prospect of certain death, but she couldn't help but wish Poppy had gotten her way with him, for once. Albus seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Very well, Severus. I will cancel your classes and other obligations for the next week, if that will help—on one condition," he added firmly, as Severus turned to him, looking startled. "You will not neglect yourself. You will find time to rest, and notify Poppy if you feel at all out of sorts."

"Headmaster—"

"Do not argue with me. I trust her judgment in this, and it is her personal and professional opinion that you are not fully recovered from yesterday's ordeal—your hands are enough proof of that. Were it not for the greater threat Voldemort poses to your life at the present, I would insist on taking you back to the infirmary."

The glower faded from Severus's face, though his eyes still glittered mutinously. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Albus smiled. "Well, as that bit of unpleasantness is cleared up, I do believe I owe Poppy both an apology and an explanation. I will leave you to your work, Severus."

"Finally," Severus muttered under his breath after the headmaster had left, as though he had forgotten he was not yet alone. Minerva raised an eyebrow to hide her smirk.

"You're quite lucky, you know. Poppy was ready to drag you upstairs by your ears. Or worse."

"If you've nothing more productive to say, Minerva, I'd ask that you leave," said Severus, but his voice was far less venomous than usual. She watched him carefully measure and add some viscous liquid to his concoction; it hissed and turned a murky green, emitting steam more acrid than ever.

Minerva coughed. "Good Merlin, man, are you sure that's supposed to—?"

"Of course," Severus snapped peevishly. "I made the modifications to the brewing process myself. It's going exactly as expected—if a few hours behind."

Minerva ignored the pointed remark and dabbed at her streaming eyes, wondering at Severus's ability to remain focused and barely affected by the emissions from the cauldron, though, come to think of it, he did look considerably paler and more tired than usual. He cursed, however, as he was chopping a bundle of some odd-looking roots.

"Dammit—Minerva, watch it for a moment, will you? I need to clean this." He held up his bloodied knife and a gashed thumb. "Two stirs anti-clockwise if it looks like it's going to boil over. Two _only_. No more or less."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at his tone, but it was wasted; he was carefully washing his supplies and checking the roots for contamination. She frowned once he returned and resumed the chopping. His grip on the knife seemed overstated and awkward, while his hands shook with the effort of moving the roots so that each piece could be sliced equally. Compared to his usual speed and precision, it looked almost painful.

"Let me," she said abruptly, as he reached for another bundle. His eyes narrowed.

"Don't you have anything better to do than to torment me with your presence further?"

"_Let me_," she repeated through gritted teeth. "Severus, you can barely move your fingers properly—how exactly were you planning on finishing this? You brew. I'll prepare your ingredients."

"But you're not qua—"

"I'll have you know I got an Outstanding in my Potions N.E.W.T., thank you, and studied another two years besides. I'll handle the knife. You'll never get this done at the rate you're going."

He scowled at her, perhaps at the reminder of his incapacitation. "You truly have nothing better to do?"

"Of course. But you need this more than I need to find out just how badly my fifth years did on their last exam, so, if you don't mind—your ingredients list?"

He mumbled something unintelligible and nodded to the thick tome half obscured by a jar of beetle eyes. She squinted at the directions, taking into account the many additions and scribbled notes Severus had added, and began shredding a clump of dried fluxweed; she could feel his narrowed eyes upon her, but he said nothing, and accepted the leaves with a stiff nod of approval when she was finished.

Perhaps this would work, after all.

* * *

"I don't suppose you'll explain to me _why_ you feel the need to encourage this sort of behaviour," said Poppy wearily.

"My dear Madam Pomfrey," said Albus, reaching for the pepper to season his Shepherd's Pie, "it is not my intention to encourage it at all. Were it not for an unforeseeable and unfortunately inflexible set of circumstances, I would insist on his submitting to your judgment."

"For all that _that_ would work," she muttered. "You know, Albus, this whole saving the world business is rather more wearing than I'd realised. Have you any idea what Severus's blood pressure was the last time I checked? I haven't the foggiest what he's been running around doing, but mark my words: you put him through this much longer, and you're good as killing him yourself."

Albus sighed. "I know, and I wish I could say I could make him stop. Unfortunately, Poppy—and I say this because I know that sounds cruel—" he added, as she opened her mouth to protest— "the current matter is one of life and death. _His _imminent death, if I did not allow him to leave your care as soon as possible."

Poppy considered this, pushing potatoes around on her plate as she struggled to counter Albus's odd brand of logic. "Very well," she said finally. "Only—if he's back in my ward in two days from overstressing himself, I'm afraid I will have no qualms about saying 'I told you so.'"

"And you would be quite within your rights to do so," said Albus, smiling. "However, I suspect his endurance may hold out a bit longer than even we th—ah, Minerva. I was wondering if you had forgotten about lunch."

Minerva took her seat on his other side and waved away his concerns, pouring herself a large goblet of pumpkin juice. "Nonsense, Albus. Just at a rather delicate stage in the process, as I was told. I must say, I've never seen anything this complicated—even slowed as he is, Severus is a genius."

"Though I expect he'll never hear you say so directly," Albus chuckled, looking mildly surprised. "You've been with him all this time?"

"I—well—" Minerva said hastily, half-choking on a gulp of juice—"He was having—er, a bit more difficulty than he expected, I think. He agreed to let me do some of the more innocuous preparatory work to save some time, though I wonder whether he hasn't grown tired of me by now." Her eyes glinted with amusement behind her spectacles.

"Oh, most definitely," said Poppy, a smile lighting her face for the first time all day. "You can tell him when he wants a break to leave his work to you and come visit me. Just because he's escaped does _not_ mean I'm through with him."

"How is it going, otherwise?" asked Albus keenly.

Minerva blinked. "I—truly don't know, to be honest. He's got a lot more work in store, certainly, and he was having a bit of trouble with his hands—" She flushed as Poppy scowled. "—but he hasn't said much. Considering his disposition, that's probably a good thing."

"Well, if he hasn't thrown you out yet, at least try to get him to eat something," Poppy said. "_Someone_ has to remind him he needs to take care of himself if he intends to finish whatever it is he's working on when he wants."

"That _will_ get me thrown out," Minerva replied, a grin tugging at her lips. "But…it might as well be for that as anything."

* * *

"Severus, you've been in here four days," said Minerva exasperatedly. He merely scowled at her.

"I am well aware of how long it's been, considering your oh-so-kind reminders every time you visit."

He added another few drops of armadillo bile and tried to ignore the way Minerva drew herself up, her eyes flashing in irritation. Her help had admittedly been invaluable, as she sped up the process considerably when she dropped in from time to time, but it was getting down to the critical point of finishing before the Mark burned. The last thing he needed was distraction in the form of a row with her—and over something so idiotic, to boot.

"You're lucky Albus has prevented Poppy from dragging you out of here," she snapped. "You've barely eaten anything the past few days—I dare not even ask how much sleep you've gotten—"

"I've slept," said Severus vaguely.

"When I've made you!"

"When you've agreed to watch the potion, or when there are a few hours to let it simmer. I'm running out of time, Minerva—either help me, or get out. Kindly do _not_ distract me."

Her lips thin, she took his knife from the table and began to slice the asphodel leaves he indicated. Unfortunately for him, she did not seem to share his desire for a silent workroom.

"They all think I've gone mad, you know," she hissed. "Filius and the rest—they know you're not ill. What with you holed up and me spending all my spare time here, I'm surprised no one's contacted St. Mungo's."

Severus had to resist the sudden and very strong urge to shake her. He was tired—she didn't deserve this sort of treatment—and she had to be tired, too; she needn't have spent all her time helping… But her remarks still rankled.

"If you have such an aversion to helping me, leave," he snarled. "I didn't ask for your help. _You_ clearly don't want to give it. Get out."

The anger faded from Minerva's face, if only slightly. "But—your hands—"

"—are doing better," he lied stiffly; they still felt far from coordinated, and he was nowhere near having the dexterity he needed to finish this potion in record time. To his horror, Minerva tilted her head, her mouth almost quirking into an astounded smile.

"You're lying," she stated gently. "And I can tell."

_Damn you, woman._

Despite the glower he turned on her, she merely stared at him with that odd, pitying sort of grin, eyes no longer flashing. "_You_ are exhausted," she said quietly. "You can't even lie to me. To _me,_ Severus. And I do not have You-Know-Who's skills in Legilimency."

_You don't think I know that?_ he wanted to shout, but his voice seemed to have stuck. She was right, damn her. And none of this was helping to get the potion done.

He glanced at the cauldron miserably—what good was it, anyway? He was dead either way. If he didn't finish, the Dark Lord would kill him for disobedience. If he did…well, his mind was already frayed beyond belief. Another day would only make it worse, and then….

"I quit," he said softly. "I'm done. There's no point."

"Severus…" Minerva reached out to rescue the ladle he abandoned, and finished stirring the cycle he'd left. "Severus, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made it sound like—ach, I didn't mean it like that. I wouldn't be here helping you if I didn't think you had a chance, and certainly not if I didn't want to help you."

"You're wrong," he said dully. "I was wrong. Minerva, stop that—it's no use any more."

"No, _you_ stop," she countered, a bit more briskly. "We _can_ get this done—but you need rest. Look; there's a six hour break after you add the—er—" she squinted at his potions book again— "caiman livers. I'll watch it."

"Minerva—"

"I am _not_ explaining to Albus why you walked off to You-Know-Who completely unprepared," she snapped. He nodded in resignation, and took the ladle from her once more; her fierceness on his behalf was both oddly gratifying and…frightening.

_Gryffindors_, he snorted to himself.

"There."

He found himself fidgeting under Minerva's critical gaze as she lowered the flame under the cauldron and turned to him; her eyebrow was raised in an expression he could not read.

"You have a good several hours now. Go get some rest. And—" She favoured him with her little lopsided smirk again. "I don't mean this the way it's going to sound—but you might want to freshen up. You're starting to look positively wild."

He glared half-heartedly in her direction; the prospect of a bath and a few hours' sleep was too enticing for him to put much energy into it. He made as dignified of an exit as he could manage; it was made difficult by the fact he nearly stumbled twice, but Minerva did not comment, and he dragged himself into his bathroom with an almost unholy sense of relief.

"Shit," he breathed, glancing in his mirror with some reluctance. He had always been a lost cause, in his opinion, but he barely recognised the face glaring back at him, gaunt and haggard beneath a tangled mess of oily black hair and the rough beginnings of a beard.

_Wild_, he snorted, but then sighed. Minerva was right. Again.

_Damn her_.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts, questions, etc.—hearing what you have to say really helps me to improve. Have a nice day! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Really, this is the sixth chapter of this fic. I think it's a bit obvious by now I'm not JKR, so I don't own her wonderful world, nor am I making money by dabbling in it.

Author's Note: My goodness, did I really manage to update in less than three weeks? Well, I suppose miracles do happen, but all of your wonderful encouragement has certainly been a big help. :) I apologise if the wait was still a bit longer than you would have liked, but I hope you will enjoy nonetheless.

* * *

Minerva let out a shaky (and what she hoped was inaudible) breath. The problem with being a Gryffindor, she'd discovered, was that an idealised sense of bravery was pounded into one from childhood onwards. It may have united her house, but she, for one, found that sense of bravery often sorely tested—as was the case when she confronted a surly and thoroughly unpredictable Severus Snape.

Merlin, but he'd looked awful. Not that she could blame him; still, she had been relieved when he'd left the tending of his potion to her, and even more relieved when he'd re-entered the room a half hour later—now clean-shaven and wearing fresh robes—and barely spared her a glance before he curled up on the settee and promptly fell asleep. She smirked slightly as she eyed him now: He had been outraged when she'd transfigured one of his spare stools, but he had not changed it back, and she noticed that the settee had been well-utilised over the past few days.

_Well, there's nothing else for it now_, she sighed to herself, and conjured a chair to wait out the next few hours. The potion they'd been so arduously preparing now resembled nothing so much as a cauldron full of thick purple sludge, the occasional bubble rising to the surface with an ominous _gloop_, though according to Severus the next stage would have it as clear and fluid as water.

Minerva frowned at the thought. She supposed it was only through years of study and the gift of intuition that he was able to invent or modify potions of his own, but he had been remarkably tight-lipped about the matter. She had only once asked what, precisely, it was that they were brewing; he had glared in a way that she knew meant the subject was closed, and she did not have enough experience to hazard a guess based on the ingredients she had seen him use.

_Perhaps…?_ She glanced back at the settee warily, but he was still fast asleep; he was sprawled on the cushions in a lanky black heap as he worked at diminishing the shadows under his eyes.

_Don't be a fool_, she told herself, but she could not help clearing away the jar of kneazle claws from where they lay holding down the pages of his potions book. He hadn't expressly forbidden her from looking at it; after all, she'd helped him prepare a good amount of the ingredients, and she likely would have been able to recognize their uses and such in this potion had she had more training. Still…the fact that he had refused to answer her question had to mean something.

Oh, hang it. _Looking_ at potions instructions couldn't do much harm; and, after all, curiosity didn't really kill the cat. Even if he hadn't had nine lives, satisfaction was always there to bring him back.

Minerva McGonagall was always sure to be well satisfied when she allowed herself to meddle.

With another glance at Severus's inert form and a tiny smirk, she held a finger on the book to save their place and began paging backwards. She could scarcely believe the complexity and extent of the brewing process, even though she had been there to witness a decent part of it. More disturbing was the amount of scribbles and alternate instructions Severus had drawn all over the pages—proof that he had, at least, been spending a good deal more time on this than simply preparing it for You-Know-Who.

_But what…?_ She flipped another page and abruptly found herself at the beginning of the formula; she barely suppressed a gasp of horror.

Curiosity may not have killed the cat—but said findings from curiosity could certainly kill a lot of other people.

And she was _helping_.

_Oh, Merlin_.

* * *

"Headmaster, may I have a word?" said Poppy, barely catching Albus as he left the Great Hall from dinner.

"Of course," he said graciously. "What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what's going on," she answered. "I haven't seen Severus in days—I don't know what you've told him, but against my better judgment I let him go, with the understanding that someone would be keeping an eye on him."

"We have," confirmed Albus. "Or, rather, Minerva has—"

"But that's precisely my point. She's been missing meals as well. What if she's letting him get away with neglecting himself?"

Albus chuckled. "She has not let Severus get away with anything in a very long time, Poppy. I am sure she is keeping him in line admirably. And her occasional absences are nothing unusual—it is likely she is simply using the time to visit Severus. Whatever the reason, I very much doubt she would neglect _herself_," he added pointedly.

Poppy sighed. "I…you're right, of course. I'm being silly. It's only so very odd, what with the both of them closeted together—I—are we sure neither has killed the other yet?"

"Well, if they have, we know Minerva survived at least until the end of her classes today," said Albus cheerfully. "Don't worry, my dear. I am sure they're both just fine."

"Albus, telling me not to worry is like—like telling Severus not to scowl, or Filius not to decorate the Christmas trees with fairies," said Poppy wryly. "It's my job to worry."

"And you do your job extremely well."

"I—well, yes, I suppose. But—"

"Nonetheless, Poppy, you don't have to worry _quite_ so much about this," said Albus, smiling. "I'm sure Minerva will be just as glad to assure you of their survival herself."

Poppy whirled around to see Minerva stalking towards them, looking extremely put out; she nodded to the matron and rounded on Albus.

"Might I have a word?" she said tersely.

"Of course, my dear. I assume from your determination to pound holes into the floor that Severus has managed to upset you."

"Indeed."

"Now what's he done?" said Poppy threateningly. Minerva sniffed.

"It's not so much what he's done as what he's _doing_," she said meaningfully, exchanging a glance with Albus.

He frowned. "I'm afraid I don't—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Minerva snapped, dragging him into the nearest abandoned classroom, lest any students returning from dinner overhear them, "Albus, have you any idea what he's making? What he's delivering to You-Know-Who?"

"I have a rough idea," sighed Albus. "I've found it's best not to press for specifics."

"But the sort of poison—!"

"Precisely, Minerva, _poison_. This is Severus's area of expertise. Voldemort can only have need of a poison for two reasons: To kill a person already in his possession, or to use in an attempt to assassinate one whom he has either not the wish or ability to attend to in person. Severus knows this. As such, he also does his best to make sure the intended victim does not truly suffer—for instance, warning a possible target, or administering an antidote as he's 'disposing of a body,' if there's enough time to do so. Every time Voldemort asks something like this of him, he is prepared, Minerva."

"_Every time_?" she whispered, horrified. "This happens often? Albus—why on earth is none of this ever mentioned to the Order?"

"Because he is capable of handling it himself. There is no need to burden the rest of us."

"And when there's _not_ time to administer an antidote?" she said, her voice shaking.

Albus sighed. "Then he does not. And it doesn't burden the rest of us, although I know Severus takes it very personally. It is yet another sacrifice few will ever know he makes."

Minerva was trembling in fury. "And do you know," she said, "just how many more will be _sacrificed_ to the poison Severus is brewing as we speak?"

"As few as can be managed, Minerva, and no more than must be."

"You claim he does not make others suffer," she said tartly. "As far as I can tell, he's concocting little less than the most painful way to die imaginable—a slow death, as though one has been fed a liquid Cruciatus Curse, combined with the twisting of the mind, so that one can only recall their worst memories—and terrible distortions of their best. All," she finished, "while adjusting the effects to each individual victim, so that they may remain on the brink of sanity as they die."

"I can certainly see why Voldemort would find that attractive."

"Yes," she hissed. "And I dare not even consider what Severus's modifications may have added to it. Merlin's beard, Albus, he's not brewing this with the intention of ever being able to save anyone from it. It's the most _horrible_—" She shuddered. "I hope the both of you consider that when you speak of your…_sacrifices_."

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to meet the accusatory glare of his deputy. "Minerva, he knows what he's doing. You must trust him."

Minerva's lips thinned. "Yes, I can see very well that he knows what he's doing," she said, and swept from the room.

Albus sighed.

* * *

Severus glanced up in surprise as the door to his workroom banged open; he had woken from his sleep—well, if not truly refreshed, then at least marginally more sane—than he had been several hours before, and also puzzled.

Minerva was gone.

He shouldn't think why this should bother him, other than her promise to watch the potion, but the hourglass on the counter was keeping time well enough, and nothing had gone wrong. And she was back now, in any case—if looking a great deal more incensed than he had seen her in a while.

"You look better," she said curtly, glancing over him once with what looked suspiciously like a scowl.

"I hardly think that says much," he replied, then narrowed his eyes; Minerva was simply staring at the beetles she was supposed to be desiccating. She glanced back at him, her jaw set stubbornly, and then at his cauldron—and in a way that made him wish that she was a little farther away.

"What?" he said harshly.

"You ought to know 'what,'" she spat. She eyed his cauldron again. "Severus, how can you do this?"

"Easily. The Dark Lord will kill me if I do not."

"You need not go back to the Dark Lord. Albus has offered many times."

"And we both know he truly does not wish for me to quit. I cannot, while I may still save lives in an attempt to end this."

"At the cost of how many _other_ lives?" said Minerva shrilly. "Severus, I do not wish you compromised, or even dead—but I will not help you commit murder!"

Severus paused. He had wondered how long it would take her to realise just what she was getting herself into…still, her reaction was disappointing. And problematic.

"Ah," he said softly. "I see you are more like Dumbledore than I thought."

"Meaning?"

He smirked humourlessly. "He prefers not to get his messianic hands dirty. There is much of this nature he lets me handle alone—less wearing on his conscience, you see."

"How _dare_ you imply that—!"

"I imply nothing," he said sharply. "You know very well the sort of things I must do, all for a greater cause. You can have no greater abhorrence for it than I; there is a reason I do not disclose all to the full Order. If you wish to have no part in it, then say so freely—none of Albus's good-natured dodging."

"I—"

"—But if you don't mind, for the moment—I need those beetles within the next minute. Either prepare them, or get the hell out of this room."

It came out far more ruthlessly than he'd intended, and Minerva's nostrils flared in offense, but she set to the beetles regardless and shoved them in his direction seconds later. She did not look at him as he took them.

"Go save your own skin."

He stopped. "If you believe preventing me from giving this to the Dark Lord will truly save his intended victims, stay my hand now," he growled, wincing as his arm flared with pain. "I can delay no longer. Time is up."

He watched as Minerva froze, surveying him with an expression he could not read before her eyes darted to his arm.

"He's calling."

"Yes."

She turned away, straightening her robes unnecessarily before leaving without another word. Severus sighed and added the beetles, stirring twice before taking the cauldron from the fire and bottling a sample. Done. At last. But at what cost?

He shook his head and hurried to his rooms to change into his Death Eater robes. He'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Minerva was astonished to find Albus already in the Entrance Hall; she had intended to tell him of Severus's departure and retain the option to leave his office without further conversation. Swallowing her annoyance, she approached his place near the doors, and was disconcerted to see the worry lining his face.

"Albus?"

"Minerva. It's true, then?" he said heavily.

"Yes—how did you—?"

"Severus saw fit to contact me immediately. It seems he sees fit to answer Voldemort's summons regardless of whether his potion is completed."

Minerva blinked. "But—he did finish. I think."

"Did he? He did not tell me when I asked."

"Perhaps—perhaps he was simply preoccupied," said Minerva, desperately trying not to think what had happened the last time she and Albus had assumed something of grave importance. "I am afraid I may have distracted him more than I should have."

Albus raised a silver eyebrow, as though insinuating he knew that their parting had not been amicable, but said nothing. Minerva turned away from that stare, letting her gaze wander around the hall—and caught Severus's black-draped figure emerging from the dungeons. He paused as he neared them.

"Headmaster, I've got to go—"

"I know, my boy. Be careful."

"I always am."

"I know." Albus smiled worriedly, but he seemed hunched, somehow; older, and perhaps frailer, than he usually was. "Then good luck."

Severus nodded wordlessly, but Minerva did not miss the glance he cast at her. He was as inscrutable as always, but for all her current frustration with him, she couldn't help but feel she owed him something—an apology, or a warning, or at least a goodbye…

But he would dismiss an apology, and scoff at any warnings; after all, Albus had already told him to be careful. "Goodbye" seemed a bit morbid, even for his tastes, and an embrace was hardly appropriate—even if it was the last interaction they ever had. Before she could so much as formulate words or pat him on the arm, he nodded to her, and swept out the doors.

And she did nothing.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please leave any comments, questions, etc. that may have popped into your head—comments truly help me to improve, and questions deemed not too creepy or personal (not that I've had a problem with this!) will be answered. :)

It's almost the end of the road, here—just one chapter left. Yes, I am aware that I said this several chapters ago. Yes, I unintentionally lied. ;) However…thank you for sticking through with this, and I will do my best to update soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Stating the obvious, round 7: I'm not JKR, nor any of her publishers, affiliates, etc. I'm not trying to steal her characters, and I'm not making money. I am, however, having fun playing in her world, and hope you are, too. ;)

Author's Note: Well, here it is—the last chapter. It's again much longer than usual, which I hope you will take as an acceptable apology for the long wait on this one. It gave me a great deal more trouble than I thought, and I'm still not particularly happy with it, but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.

Oh, and there's a bit of a torture warning for this one; I tried not to make it too explicit. If anyone is particularly offended by that section, let me know and I will of course up the rating for this story.

* * *

"Severus."

He kept his eyes closed, more to give himself a split second to clear his mind than to avoid his surroundings. It was likely only Malfoy Manor, again, anyway, judging by the perfume clinging to the rug.

"My Lord," he said smoothly, kneeling; yes, it was the Malfoys'; the old dining room, it looked like. He dared not raise his head to see more before the Dark Lord gave him permission.

"You are late, my faithful," said Voldemort coldly, and there was a muffled rumble of voices from around the room.

"My Lord, Dumbledore proved himself more of an obstacle tonight; it was difficult to get away from the castle—"

"Excuses."

"I had to make sure he wouldn't see this," said Severus quickly, pulling the phial from his robes; Voldemort's voice had risen to warning level. The room held its breath as Voldemort took the potion from his hands—and began to laugh.

"Well done," he cackled. "_Well done_. Do you not see, all of you? He does the impossible, for me. I confess I did not expect he would finish this before this meeting, and yet, here it is. He does the impossible for his Lord. _Why do not all of you_?"

His laughter stopped abruptly. Severus remained where he was. The Dark Lord was in a very dangerous mood…it was not a good idea to bring more attention to himself. Apparently, not everyone had learned this lesson.

"My Lord," someone called hesitantly, "with all due respect, not even he could fulfil your wishes exactly; he is, as you said, late, as well as—"

"You _dare_ tell me with whom I should be pleased, Jugson?" Voldemort hissed. "After your failure? _Crucio!_"

Severus screwed his eyes shut. He was grateful it wasn't him, but that could always change in a heartbeat—and Jugson had a particularly ear-splitting scream. Mercifully, it stopped within seconds.

"I warned you all of the punishment for failing me," said Voldemort calmly. "And yet…he is right. You were late, Severus. I do not like to be kept waiting. _Crucio!_"

Severus writhed. There was something to be said for his potion, he thought dully, if it managed to cause pain worse than this…

Not that that was a good thing. He blocked the thought quickly as he lay there, panting; he could not afford to appear anything but suitably chastened. There was a rustle of fabric as the Dark Lord circled him.

"I am not pleased," said Voldemort, "that Dumbledore detained you. Would you allow him to keep you from me?"

"My Lord—"

"_Crucio!_"

He had probably deserved it, for speaking up, Severus thought grimly, but still…oh, _Merlin_, he was getting too old for this; this had to stop…just let it stop…

"You accept your punishment gracefully," said Voldemort. "That is truly impressive. Can you say the same, Jugson? Or you, Avery? Travers?"

Severus winced as he listened to more screams that were not his own; Voldemort was truly in rare form. That was not at all encouraging. Someone was going to die, at this rate….

He hoped to God it wasn't him.

"But enough chatter. Get up, all of you. Up. _Up_! You see, my friends? Severus has brought me a truly wonderful gift. A few drops alone are worth hours of entertainment, as well as—_other_—values to our cause. Information, perhaps. Would you like to see it in action?"

Well, that settled it. Someone _was_ going to die. Severus merely nodded with the rest of them, however, as no one would dare to refuse anything the Dark Lord suggested.

"Severus, you brought me this present. Perhaps, as a reward, you would like to choose your guinea pig?"

_Oh, shit_. The attention was back on him—and it was precisely the kind of attention he didn't want. If he chose the wrong person…. "My Lord," he said carefully, "I don't think it is for me to decide."

Voldemort laughed again, slit-like nostrils flaring. "So respectful. So wonderful. He does as you all should—looks to me for all things. Obeys me in all things. Why, he would even drink that potion himself, should I ask it." The red eyes stared at him challengingly.

_SHIT_.

"My Lord?" he said quietly, though he uncapped the phial. "There—there is no antidote."

"No."

Severus stared at the transparent potion, sloshing in its glass as though it were innocuous as water. How utterly stupid, to brew one's own poison, he thought. _Pathetic way to die, really._ He pushed away the images of Albus and Minerva's faces, and drank.

He nearly dropped the phial. He wished he had. Others might have been spared this—this—oh, _gods_, he couldn't breathe, something was surely tearing at his insides—

He did not remember falling, but he was curled on the ground with a scream locked in his throat, hearing Voldemort laugh between memories of his mother, unsure if any of it was real—

"Amusing, is it not?"

"—_stupid useless boy, just like your father_—"

"—a good price for failure—"

"—_should knock sense into you, like he does_—"

"—shame to lose any wizard with talent—"

"—_talentless brat, I was casting that charm when I was three_—_!_"

"—phoenix tears, but only enough for one of them—"

"—_never could love you, you worthless bugger_—"

"I leave it to you to choose."

The voices grated painfully against Severus's ears, or perhaps it was the screaming—was that him? He tried to force the image of his mother away, but Albus and Minerva had returned; this time, they were sneering, staring at him with utter disgust as he thrashed and clawed at his middle.

"Filth. Coward," Minerva spat, her beautiful features twisted in a snarl. "Can't even face what he would use on others."

"No, Minerva, you must trust him," jeered Albus. "We need someone like him—I won't send someone truly important off to Voldemort. It's better if they're unloved and expendable. He won't be missed if something goes wrong."

_It's not true, it's not true_… Severus told himself, but somehow Albus's words only added to the pain ripping so sharply into his chest—_dammit_, he needed to _breathe_—Minerva was smirking at him pitilessly, while his father appeared behind her and began shouting things he couldn't understand—

Abruptly, they vanished. The pain faded. Severus took in great gulps of perfumed air as the ache receded from his limbs; he felt the soft rug beneath his fingertips and wondered when precisely he had squeezed his eyes shut.

"Severus?"

A woman's voice. He slit his eyelids open to see a mess of white-blonde hair and a pale, frightened face; Voldemort's red eyes hovered over her shoulder.

"Narcissa—how did I—I thought—"

"A reward for your faithfulness," said the Dark Lord, pushing Narcissa aside. "For completing my orders regardless of impossibility, and obedience unto death." He held up a smaller empty phial. "It took me a great deal of trouble to obtain phoenix tears, but you, especially, know that no poison can stand against them. Due to their rarity, however, antidotes are generally more widely used. It is unfortunate for Jugson that there is now no more of either available."

Dimly, Severus realised that the screaming had not ceased; he sat up carefully and looked round to see Jugson tearing at himself in agony. He swallowed, and managed a half bow in Voldemort's direction. "Indeed. My thanks, my Lord, for your mercy in sparing me."

Voldemort shook his head. "Thank your comrades," he said coldly. "They chose to save you over him. Let us hope you can assure them they did not make a mistake."

"Never, my Lord. Thank you."

Severus glanced around at the circle; the other Death Eaters were silent, watching either him or Jugson with an air of detachment. Voldemort surveyed them all, radiating powerful annoyance.

"You want the world," he hissed. "The world is within our grasp. We are past the time for failure—consider this your last warning. But I have been harsh. Go back to your friends and families. Enjoy yourselves. Next time, we begin anew—and we will do so without mistakes."

* * *

"Oh, Albus, what have I done?" said Minerva fretfully. Albus sighed as he watched his deputy pace.

"You've done nothing wrong, my dear," he said.

"But I have!" she cried. She could not forget the look on Severus's face when she had confronted him—or, worse yet, when he'd left. With every passing moment, she wished she'd said something, anything, just in case…and it was quite late. Very late, in fact. If Severus had simply been delivering his potion, he was long overdue. The thought made her pace more vigorously.

"Albus, I accused him of murder. I all but called him a coward to his face! And I didn't—oh, Albus, if it's the last he ever heard from me—"

"Severus can take care of himself," said Albus quietly, then revised, "well, amongst the Death Eaters. I am sure Poppy would disagree otherwise."

"As she should," Minerva sniffed. "His sense of self-preservation is somewhat lacking."

"And yet, he somehow survives," said Albus. "And—if I may say so—he does so even better under pressure. I would never dream of telling you not to worry, but do not give up hope. There is a good chance he will be perfectly all right. Come, sit." He patted the spot beside him where he sat on the stairs.

Minerva shook her head. "You know, Albus, I tend to tell you that you are right, more often than not. Don't let this be one of the exceptions."

"My dear, I wish for nothing el—" He broke off suddenly, standing. Minerva stared at him in alarm.

"Albus, what—?"

"The wards. Unless I am mistaken, Severus has returned."

Minerva almost let out a sigh of relief—_almost_. She exchanged a glance with Albus and knew he was thinking the same thing: Did Severus's return mean he was all right? Would he come through the doors in a matter of minutes, or was he again in too poor of a condition to make it up to the castle—or, worse yet—what if he wasn't coming at all, and it had simply been his body thrown at the gates?

Unable to bear the thought, Minerva reached for the doors, and tugged her robes more tightly about her as the icy January air threatened to make her shiver. She squinted into the darkness, trying to watch for movement against the snow—there. That had to be him. The dark splotch moved quickly; he didn't seem to be hurt, at any rate, but there was something about the set of his shoulders she didn't like as he drew nearer.

"Severus," she said quietly, and he looked up, raising an eyebrow tiredly; he was paler than ever, but otherwise seemed unharmed. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around him briefly. "Oh, Severus, thank God—I thought—"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "It's all right. I'm _fine_, Minerva—Headmaster." He extricated himself from Minerva's grip, albeit more gently than he normally would have. Minerva frowned at the realisation.

"Inside," said Albus firmly, though relief clearly lightened his face. "This is no place to talk. It's freezing. Would you care for a cup of hot chocolate?"

"No," said Severus quickly. Too quickly. Minerva pursed her lips; the dim light of the Entrance Hall made it very obvious that he was avoiding looking at either of them. _But what…?_

"There is nothing new to report, Headmaster. He—enjoyed—the potion. Whatever plans he has made, he has not yet shared with any of us," Severus continued, shifting, ever so slightly, towards his dungeons.

"Very well. Are you quite sure—?"

"No, thank you. Forgive me, Headmaster; I am tired. I think I shall go to bed."

And with that, he disappeared, before either Minerva or Albus could so much as wish him goodnight. She gaped after him.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" she said, after a moment.

"Perhaps," said Albus, frowning, "but he would never lie to get out of a report. It has been a trying day; it is quite likely he wanted to retire as quickly as possible. I cannot blame him for being short with us."

"Albus, he wouldn't even _look_ at us!"

"I am sure he has his reasons, Minerva—especially if Voldemort did indeed enjoy the potion."

_Oh._ Minerva could have kicked herself. "He—he killed someone, then?" she said quietly.

"In all likelihood, yes. If he does not consider the name worth mentioning, I have found it best not to press. It is hard enough on him as it is."

"I see," she said, yawning. "Well, he had one thing right, at any rate—it's very late. I think I'll turn in as well. Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, my dear."

Minerva waited until they had parted ways on the second floor before turning back the way they'd come. She'd be damned if she let Severus sulk, alone, without ever having even offered him an apology; she had been harsh.

And she'd bet a good amount that, if what Albus said was true, Severus would not be sleeping in any case.

* * *

"Severus?"

She had not really expected him to answer, but she sighed at the lack of response nonetheless. After a moment, she frowned.

"Severus, it's Minerva. May I come in?"

Silence. Perhaps he was in the bath? Feeling slightly guilty, she tapped the door with her wand and murmured his password; after all, this could very well be considered a matter of personal safety…

"Severus, where are you?" she called softly, stepping into his sitting room. It was still dimly lit, as though he had not yet gone to bed, but neither did he respond. "Are you all right?"

The next second, she jumped; she peered into the corner where she had seen movement, and sighed in relief when she noticed it was only Severus. His dark dressing gown blended almost perfectly with the shadows, but she was disconcerted to see that he was paler than ever and trembling slightly as he stepped into the light—and, more disturbing, that he was lowering his wand. She eyed him carefully.

"I'm sorry, Severus; I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to see whether—"

"—I was all right, I know. I heard you." His wand disappeared from sight, but he still studied her warily. "If I may ask…why, precisely, would you care about what happens to a coward like me?"

She blinked. "I—"

"Filth. That's what you called me," he whispered. "Someone who can't face what I would do to others."

"Severus, I said some things earlier today that I never should have—and I'm sorry. But I _never _called you filth. And whatever I may have wrongly implied, I would _never_ call you a coward."

Her alarm grew as he simply stared at her, shaking worse than ever, his complexion fading to greyish green. "But you—and Albus. Albus said—he said I—wasn't important. Unloved. Ex—expendable."

_Oh, Merlin_. She should never have let him walk away in the Entrance Hall; she _knew_ something was wrong…what the hell had happened? "Severus…" she said cautiously, approaching him like she would a wounded animal, "what did You-Know-Who do? What happened tonight?"

He blinked several times, as though trying to clear his head. "He…called us. I gave him a potion. The potion." He suddenly looked up, his eyes far more lucid than before, though he looked no less horrified. "Oh, no, Minerva, I'm sorry—I didn't mean—it's just…he was very displeased with us. Some more than others," he added bitterly. "But he quite enjoyed the potion; so much so that he tested it…on me."

Minerva felt as though she were going to be sick. She had read the book herself, seen what it could do… "What?" she breathed.

"Well, me and Jugson," said Severus miserably. "He gave it to both of us, and left it to the rest of them to decide which of us he would save. Me, obviously. I don't remember much…but I saw you. And you said…" He trailed away again.

"I said terrible things," finished Minerva quietly. Of course. It made so much sense now. "The potion twists your memories…of course it would. Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry."

"I thought I was going mad," he said. "I saw my mother—and I'm fairly certain I'd once _really_ heard her say—well, what she was saying—"

"—so you saw us and couldn't help but assume the same. It's all right. I understand."

"I'm sorry. I knew it wasn't—you—but then seeing you so soon after—"

"I know. It's all right."

"No. It's not. I saw you both and I couldn't—I couldn't bear looking at you, not knowing whether you'd ever actually said—" He shuddered. "Oh, God, I'm going mad."

Minerva squeezed his shoulder gently. "No, you're not. You've just had a very stressful day, and are still recovering from a hallucinogenic poison—a poison which, by all rights, should have killed you."

"Sorry it didn't?"

"_Never_," said Minerva firmly. "Severus, I was so worried…and to see you come back like this…"

He snorted, but the slightest bit of colour had returned to his cheeks, and he had stopped shaking quite so badly. "You don't even like me," he said. "We can't even stand each other most of the time—"

"Well, that's something that we'll have to change, won't we? I am perfectly happy to continue loathing you in public, of course," said Minerva quickly. "Makes things easier. And I won't pretend that you don't have a knack for annoying me like none other. But you are a good man, Severus, and I would be a fool if I let you continue trying to do everything alone. Even you need friends, you know."

On second thought, she probably could have left off embracing him until he didn't look quite so overwhelmed—Merlin knew, he had probably never heard anything of the sort before—but she had thrown her arms around his bony, bathrobe-clad shoulders before she could stop herself, and was gratified to feel him relax ever so slightly. Still, he frowned as she pulled away.

"Minerva, if you would tell me—I know you have not been privy to every conversation between the headmaster and I, but if you know he's said this—" He swallowed. "When I 'saw' him, he said—that I had always been the best to go and spy on the Dark Lord, because—because I wouldn't really be missed if something went wrong."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "You tell me, Severus. Is that the sort of thing Albus is likely to say?"

"I don't know!" he replied, his brow creasing in agitation. "It doesn't—no, but I won't pretend we haven't had our differences—and sometimes it feels as though—"

"Severus. That's quite enough. You _know_ Albus would never say such a thing. And if he ever _did_, he would be sorely mistaken."

"But—"

"_Hush_. I've just told you how much I was worried, haven't I? Go to bed, Severus. You need rest. It will look much better in the morning; I promise."

She couldn't help but smile at the familiar scowl that crossed his face as she smoothed the hair out of his eyes. After making sure he could safely take a dose of Dreamless Sleep, she left him to it and retired to her own rooms.

Finally, a night where they could all rest without imminent worry. And she intended to make the most of it.

* * *

"Back again, Mr. Wilkinson? I hope this is not going to remain a habit," sighed Poppy, ushering the miserable second year into her ward. She glanced up at his escort. "What happened, Minerva?"

"Classroom accident," said Minerva crisply. "A few unintentionally transfigured body parts here and there…I put everything back in its proper place, but he said he felt ill, so I took the precaution of bringing him here."

"Yes, very good," said Poppy absently, already engrossed with her new patient. "I'll take it from here…what's the matter, precisely, Mr. Wilkinson?"

Minerva granted the hapless Hufflepuff an encouraging smile before she turned away and stifled a sigh. Really, the boy was nearly a menace in the transfiguration classroom; it was kindest to let such things be with a minimum of fuss. Thankfully, the period had nearly been over, and so she merely sent everyone else away early and decided to deal with it herself. She would definitely have to schedule a talk with Pomona about getting some extra tutoring for the boy, though…

Minerva nearly ran into the person entering the ward as she left. Fortunately, the floating crate of potions preceded him through the doors, and she was able to step out of the way and still maintain the proper level of dignity.

"Professor Snape," she said curtly, straightening her spectacles.

"Professor McGonagall." He nodded, then directed the crate over to rest near one of Poppy's overflowing supply shelves. "Bit of trouble from your favourite second year, I see?" he added with a very faint sneer.

She shot him a warning look, not surprised to see that he completely ignored it. "There has been no harm done, and Poppy is just making sure he's perfectly all right. Speaking of which…welcome back, Professor. Your classes have missed you—I take it your illness was not too serious, then?"

Severus returned her raised eyebrow with a level look of his own. "I am—completely recovered in every way," he said, but Minerva did not miss the significance of his raised hand, or the slight flexing of his fingers, as he apparently rubbed at an invisible stain on his skin.

"I am glad to hear it," she said shortly, and nodded to him as he held open the door. She supposed she was one of the few who truly was happy to have him back, even at the cost of his constant sniping at others, and the thought almost made her smile. She headed for the Great Hall before she could give herself away.

"Professor?" Severus called. "There are a few things I need to discuss with you. Is eight o'clock in my office acceptable?"

"Of course."

"Then I will be waiting. We shall see if the Gryffindors' Head of House is more punctual than her students, or if their habits arise from example."

The sneer was unmistakeable; Minerva looked around to glare at him, thoroughly amused by the sight of the students in the Entrance Hall scurrying for cover. She could hardly blame them—Severus's smirk was quite an evil thing to behold, but his eyes glittered faintly with a teasing warmth before going back to their usual flatness.

"We shall indeed," answered Minerva smoothly. "I hope you are not too disappointed by what we discover on that account, Professor. Good day."

She whirled and ushered a few of the bolder students into the Great Hall for lunch, feeling Severus's amused stare all the way up to the High Table. Albus chuckled as she took her seat beside him.

"Trying day, Minerva?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied loftily. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, just the third years taking bets on whether you or Severus will kill the other first."

"_What_?"

"Indeed. I must admit, however, it is quite good to see him back and as—er, enthusiastic—as ever."

Minerva sniffed and reached for the rolls. "I hope you mean that in the worst sense of the word. Although—" she softened slightly. "It _is_ good to have him back, regardless. Now you've both got me worrying every time he's called away…I suppose he'll be free from that for a while?"

"There is no way of knowing," said Albus grimly. "He will always be at the mercy of Voldemort's whim, Minerva. But I am hopeful he will be given at least a temporary reprieve before he must do anything quite so trying again."

"And I am hopeful that _always_ will be cut short to _never again_, sooner rather than later," Minerva sighed. "But I suppose there is nothing more I can do on that count."

"You can be his friend, Minerva," said Albus gently. "So much hinges on Severus's success—and this past week has made it clear to me that he needs more support than even he believes. Poppy will of course be around to do what she can, but he seemed to respond to you much more favourably."

"Perhaps because he has never been afraid to snap at me like he would not to either of you," Minerva muttered, but she had to fight a smirk nonetheless. "He's been in rare form, today, you know. I can't blame the students…but I should probably stop them from gambling about the behaviour of their professors. It's simply not appropriate."

Albus shook his head, eyes twinkling. "Ah, let them have their fun; it does no harm and keeps their minds off more troubling matters. Besides, Filius and I may have made a wager or two ourselves."

"_Albus!_" said Minerva, shocked. "Really, I don't think—what—what did you say?"

He chuckled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

"Ah, good, Severus! I meant to thank you for the extra Pepperup earlier, but I was a bit preoccupied with a student…"

"I could see that," said Severus, smirking as he set another box of potions on the nearest bed. "You ought to prepare in advance. He's in my class first thing Thursday morning, and I don't doubt he'll find some way to cause mass destruction and land half the class here. I'm tempted to skip the Hair-Raising Potion and give a remedial lecture on burn salves instead."

"And yet, you won't," said Poppy, smiling. "I'm sure he'll perform just fine, Severus, given you don't frighten him half to death. Speaking of salves…your hands…?"

Severus glanced down at them, flexing his fingers. "Fine. I must admit, I was becoming a bit concerned…but the extra salve has helped. They're as good as new." He looked up at the matron awkwardly. "I—thank you."

Poppy nodded, treasuring the rare words of gratitude. "It was far less than what I should have done, Severus, but—you're very welcome."

She bent to inspect the newest additions to her stock, marvelling at the quality. It was quite difficult to brew such a large batch of Wiggenweld and still maintain perfect consistency… She shook her head, glad, for more than one reason, he had not suffered permanent damage from his latest misadventure.

"These are wonderful, Severus, thank you. And—well—" she eyed him cautiously, unsure as to how he would react— "you're—you're always welcome to stop by, Severus. Even if you don't think you need to. Actually—no. It's most likely _especially_ when you don't think you need to." Her cheeks reddened under his stare.

"Your point?" he said coolly.

Poppy sighed in exasperation. "I know you've probably heard it from Albus and Minerva by now, but—_be careful_, Severus. I don't ever want to see you being brought to me in that condition ever again. Do you understand?"

"I do," he said, but despite his very faint sneer, he nodded seriously.

Knowing him, Poppy thought sadly, he would 'forget' within a month. But he had nodded all the same, and for now, that was enough.

* * *

Minerva knocked on Severus's office door at precisely eight o'clock, and hid a smile at the slightly disgruntled 'enter' she heard from within.

"I told you not to be too disappointed in my punctuality, Severus," she said drily, as she wandered over to his desk. He stood and lifted an eyebrow.

"In all fairness to my argument, Minerva, there is always the old saying: 'If you're early, you're on time; if you're on time, you're late.'"

"Indeed. Well, if we're going to argue semantics…. In fairness to _me_, your terms were never defined clearly, and therefore left me no possibility of winning. If I had come early, you would have said I was being rude; if on time, you would pull out that ridiculous old phrase. So, you see, it does not really matter. I am, quite literally, 'on time,' and Gryffindor is spared any slights that may have resulted from me being otherwise, due to your own lack of specification."

Severus smirked, and gestured to the door of his quarters. "For the record, Minerva, Gryffindor will never be spared any deserved slights. Would you care to come in? I'd rather discuss this comfortably, if you don't mind."

"Certainly," she said in surprise; she had only once before seen the inside of Severus's personal quarters, and that because he had been particularly surly and refused to move from his armchair just to receive a new Quidditch schedule.

"Sit," he said curtly, nodding towards the furniture grouped around his fireplace as he toed off his boots. Minerva tactfully avoided the most worn leather armchair and settled herself on the settee instead, looking around at the overflowing bookshelves with mild interest. She wondered whether he kept any books purely for enjoyment, and whether he ever had any time to stop to read them…He cleared his throat pointedly, and she started at finding he was standing before her, holding a very familiar bottle of Ogden's.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?"

"I—Severus, I would, of course, but that was a gift—you need not share it with me."

"And with whom, exactly, would I share it, Minerva? I believe I owe you a drink, and now is as good a time as any to try this. In any case, you have already given me a far greater gift than I could ever have expected."

"I don't understand."

The sneering mask he had worn for most of the day was gone, replaced with the intensely curious look he had often sported in his week of preparing Voldemort's poison. Minerva felt herself going pink at the scrutiny.

"You saved my life," he said quietly. "And more than once. You found me, that night I returned—"

"I was only with Albus!"

"—but you were the one that got him looking for me in the first place. He told me that himself. You found me; you helped look after me when it was still not certain whether I would survive; you helped prepare a potion that—well, were it not for you—I would not be standing here." He paused, frowning slightly.

"I—am not good at this sort of thing, Minerva, and I don't expect I ever shall be. But—thank you."

Minerva had to wait a full several seconds to swallow her shock before she could even think of formulating a response. True, his words sounded slightly rehearsed—and, all things considered, they probably were—but it was the thought that counted. She suspected it would be the most open thank-you she would ever receive from him, and was touched by the gesture. She nodded.

"Duly noted. But if I may say so, Severus…it is not as though you would not have done the same. I hardly deserve all that—"

"Of course I would have done the same, if it were you. Anyone would have. But _not_ everyone would have saved me."

"Nonsense."

"Will you just take the damn drink?" he snapped finally, holding out the glass, face set firmly in a scowl.

She smiled. "Of course. I am sorry I could not get it to you sooner. For what it's worth…Happy Birthday. Just think, only fifty more weeks until your next."

"Don't remind me," he growled. "I may not live that long."

"If I have something to say about it, you will," said Minerva firmly. She raised her tumbler and an eyebrow, daring him to contradict her. "To your good health, then, Severus, and to many more birthdays to come. May they be nowhere near as eventful as this one."

"I will drink to that," he said, smirking slightly. He eyed her curiously as they steadily drank their way through the bottle and opened another. She wasn't half bad, really... In fact, she even treated him almost like a—friend. Perhaps she always had, and he had never noticed.

But even plastered as he was, he could clearly see that this year was shaping up to be much better than the last.

Fín.

* * *

Author's Note: And to think, I had originally planned to have this finished not long after January... *shakes head*

Yes, so I could have broken this into a few chapters—but I didn't want to make a liar out of myself yet again. :) If you're still here and reading, congratulations, and, as always, thank you so much for your time. I hoped you enjoyed it, but whatever your thoughts, feel free to share them with me. To those of you that have particularly enjoyed the Minerva/Severus interaction, never fear; there will be plenty more in fics to come!

Thanks again for reading, and have a nice day. :)


End file.
